


Schoolboy

by Fenikkusu_Ai



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-24
Updated: 2012-07-24
Packaged: 2017-11-10 16:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/468099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fenikkusu_Ai/pseuds/Fenikkusu_Ai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has a crush on his teacher, Mr. Alastair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Schoolboy

Title: Schoolboy  
Author: Fenikkusu Ai  
Rating: M  
Fandom: Supernatural  
Characters: Alastair/Dean  
Words: 640  
Genre: Hurt/Comfort  
Summary: Dean has a crush on his teacher, Mr. Alastair. High school AU. Spanking.  
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.

 

Mr. Alastair's presence was nothing short of intimidating as he loomed over Dean's desk. The expression on his face could rival an executioner's. He was so intense that Dean could feel his pulse racing.

"You forgot your term paper, Deano. Meet me after class."

Mr. Alastair's voice was cool and curt; the sound of it sent a shiver up Dean's spine, and he shifted in his chair. It would take forever for class to end.

Dean remained sitting when the bell finally rang and the other students filed out.

"Come here." Mr. Alastair motioned to his monolith of a desk. Dean obeyed. He remained somber while desperately trying to hide his mounting excitement.

His teacher scowled at him as butterflies danced in Dean's stomach. "Not taking your schoolwork seriously, is that it, Dean? Too concerned about the football team?"

"Sir…" Dean felt his lips begin to move.

Mr. Alastair leaned in close. "Bend over."

Yes.

The command was music to his ears, and Dean happily complied. Dean's stomach slid across the desk. This…incident had already happened last semester. Twice actually. Dean was beginning to enjoy it much like he was beginning to enjoy beer.

He listened to his teacher rifle the through his desk drawers. "Wasting your potential, your intelligence, on a petty game. I will have to speak to your coach."

The paddle was out. Dean wondered if he had used it on other students. Or, was he somehow special ?

"Brace yourself," he whispered in Dean's ear. "You'll need it."

It was good advice. When Mr. Alastair cracked the paddle against the seat of his pants, Dean gasped at the delicious pain that infrared his nerve endings. Yes, this is what he had wanted.

"Count them," Mr. Alastair ordered.

It almost sounded like a suggestion, but Dean knew better. "One," Dean gulped.

"One, what?"

"One, sir."

"Would you like another?"

"Yes, sir." Dean's fingernails bit into the wooden desk.

Dean knew that he was sick. A sick bastard. Almost as much as the one who held the paddle was. It was almost as if the two had attracted each other.

Mr. Alastair continued his corporal punishment. He struck his bottom a second time, and the resounding thwack was harder than before.

"Two, sir." Dean's voice quavered. He felt his cock stirring in the confines of his boxers.

After ten strikes, Dean made no effort to hide his cries and idly wondered if his teacher's trousers were also tightening. Thinking about that subject made him even more turned on…

Dean could feel his ass growing very sore by the time he reached twenty. The fabric of his jeans chafed against his abused skin. Maybe Mr. Alastair could take care of that problem if he so desired. They could fuck right on the desk.

Oh, the fantasies of a teenaged boy. Dean knew that he should be fantasizing about an attractive cheerleader, but he wanted his teacher.

Mr. Alastair stopped at thirty. The only sound in the vacated classroom was the sound of Dean's breath. Beads of sweat rolled down his face and neck. He looked ready to have a role in a porn film.

"Now, what do we say?" his teacher goaded.

"Thank you, sir," Dean whispered.

Mr. Alastair patted his damp head. "Good boy. You're going to be my star pupil. My best student. You have the potential. I guarantee it."

The sadistic bastard just left him there, and it would be a miracle if he could even walk. Dean panted over the desk freely; willing his energy back. It was so convenient that World Literature was his last class for the day.

Smiling to himself, Dean managed to eventually get up and walk out of the room with the term paper that had been at the bottom of his backpack the entire time.

Dean loved to learn.


End file.
